A Rose By Any Other Name
by Niamh929
Summary: Rosalie and Emmett’s story. Rated M for sexual content and strong language.
1. Chapter 1

**Rosalie and Emmett's story: Left for dead by a vicious and unloving fiancé, will Rosalie ever find what she so desperately needs? **

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Rated M for a reason. Sexual in nature. Strong language. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I own nothing. If I did, I would be rich.

Song for the Chapter: "Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead

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**1933**

I remembered that first morning. It was to be the morning of my wedding. I should have been in my mother's home, fretting over my wedding dress, my hair, the caterers, how much Royce had drunk the night before, the flowers. I should have been walking down the aisle to a string quartet playing the Wedding March. It should have been the beginning of my life as a King.

Instead, that morning, a pale face peered down at me from above, searching my eyes for signs of life. Others moved in the room though I could not see them.

I could feel the sheets beneath me grate over my skin like a course sandpaper. The linen was soaked through with perspiration and an acrid tang held firm in the air. Body sweat, urine, vomit, possibly. All were thickly present and noticeable to my nose.

Moments before, the pain of the previous days (or had it lasted months) seemed to lessen for the slightest moment. Then the world, stopped. Like my chest had been gouged with a rusty ice pick, it seemed to deflate, momentarily, before violently exploding out.

Now, in the darkened room that held the world as I knew it, I lay unmoving.

"You might as well see if everything is working," a voice spoke to my left. I swiveled my head slowly, afraid of the pain that I had been so used to feeling in recent times. None came. Not even the twinge of a sprained muscle.

"Where am …" the question caught in my throat. Edward Cullen sat before me on a couch of black leather.

Edward Cullen, the bane of my existence, watched me. Was it possible that I was in hell? All that I had endured could have easily been an initiation into the ranks of the damned.

With a smug, holier-than-thou attitude, Edward Cullen sat, leaning back, hands clasped behind his head, one ankle propped upon the knee of the other. "Good morning, Rosalie," he greeted with an edge of annoyance.

"Where am I?" I began, again. Movement seemed to come easier the less effort I put into it. I pulled myself upright on the bed. Around me, I heard the linen shift and chafe, sounding like so many thousands of drill bits boring into sheets of rock. Looking to the sound of the noise, I noticed stains, some older and some more freshly made.

"_Did I do that?"_ I wondered touching the bright crimson stain by the pillow. A supple pool of liquid had gathered and leeched through the top sheet and into the mattress, feathering outward like a star burst, though irregular in shape.

A chuckle came from the couch where Edward still sat, splayed out as if waiting for something.

"Miss Hale, I'd like to welcome you to the Cullen _summer_ house," he said, his voice dropping with sarcasm. "Wolfeboro, New Hampshire." I shot him a glance wondering why he was mocking me. Did he expect me to believe that we were no longer in Rochester but 400 miles away on the banks of Lake Winnipesauke?

He smirked as if I had voiced my question. The hairs at the back of my neck stood on end. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Where was my family? Where were my brothers? Where was Royce?

Edward's posture noticeably stiffened as the image of my finance, my lover, popped before my eyes. "Royce," I whispered, as my body became rigid. Flashes of a dark sky, a rain slicked street, a group of men holding uncorked champagne bottles danced in my mind as the visible world about me spun.

"Carlisle," Edward called out, rushing to the side of bed I lay on. "Come quick and bring some valium."

The carousel-like movement of the room gained momentum. Flashes of memories popped and sizzled before my closed eyes. Hands, all over my face, my chest, my … A dry sob wracked my chest.

"Hurry," someone shouted and as arms encircled me. Royce's face taunted me, and I felt them again. Hands, all over me, hold me down, tearing off my blouse, pulling the pins from my hair. Royce's words, slurred under the influence of a bottle and a half of booze.

"CARLISLE! DO SOMETHING!" the voice in my ear shouted. And my hands shot from their mooring at my side, slapping, slashing, balling into tight fists and pounding those arms that held me.

I felt someone else walk in the room. "Hold her, Edward. She needs you," a soft feminine voice spoke. "Carlisle can do nothing for her. She must ride this out."

The arms, I realized were Edward's, wrapped around me more forcefully, holding me firm against him. "No, please," I begged. I needed to be free. I needed to run. Arms held me fast while imaginary hands roamed the length of my torso.

My movement became sharper, more violent. I needed to be free. Why couldn't these people understand?

"I can't hold her much longer. She's far too strong," his voice raised above my thoughts.

"Newborn," a feminine voice intoned as if stating a fact.

"Rosalie," a whispered plea reached through the wall of haze my mind had thrown up in defense. "Rosalie, I need you to stop. You are safe."

Safe. It was such a relative term. I had felt safe at home. I had felt safe with Royce. I had been wrong. So, so wrong.

Edward's arms around me. I tried to focus on them and them alone.

"That's it," he said. "Now, breathe deep and clear your mind."

I did.

Images of the deserted street fled me to be replaced with the memory of the boy who was currently holding me. Edward walking through the park the edged my parents' property, his head was held high like a prince, his feet finding a sure and measured footing, his clothing, his manner, all immaculate.

I hated him.

He was everything I wanted, everything I envied, everything I would never be.

The squeak of the bed woke me from the memory. Edward had released me and was standing with a woman.

"You remember me…" he said, half statement, half question. He searched my features as if I were an open book for him to peruse. "We don't usually remember after …"

"We?" I interrupted.

"Where are my manners? Rosalie Hale. This is Esme Cullen," Edward motioned towards the woman to his side.

Even through the windowless darkness of the room, I could see her. Swaddled in a simple shift, she glowed. Esme Cullen. She must be the reclusive sister that I had heard about. She was truly beautiful. A beauty I could never hope for. It was a singular beauty that oozed out of her pores. And what disgusted me the most was she had no idea.

"Miss Cullen," I nodded my head and extended my hand in a reluctant greeting. Something was off here.

She smiled and moved to my side. "Mrs. Cullen, dear. But please, call me Esme," she asked.

"Missus?" I asked in confusion. "I thought you were Edward's sister?"

She smiled. Devastatingly perfect lips drew back over the most gorgeous teeth I had ever seen. Edward laughed.

"I am and a mother, of sorts."

"I remember her better than my own mother. She is all I've known," Edward admitted as the two watched each other. The smile they shared was that of a parent and a child not brother and sister. It was warm and inviting. It was a smile I'd never given my mother. A smile I'd never received in return.

Until, Esme turned to me. The smile remained. "Rosalie, my husband, Carlisle, will be here momentarily, but we need to talk. We need to explain … this," she finished, gesturing around her to the darkened room.

"Yes," I said crossing my arms and standing from the bed. My legs screamed as I stood. Not in pain but as if every cell, every fiber of my being was suddenly awake.

"Stretch," Edward commanded. "It will ease the tension in your muscles."

I paused and thought about his words. Without hesitation, I adopted second position and shift my weight to the balls of my feet. As if an instructor had barked "revelé stretch" in my ear, my arms lifted above my head, my calves and thighs pushing the floor downward. Finally, my well toned legs sighed. Years of forced ballet lessons had certainly paid off.

"A ballerina," Esme sighed. There it was. In that breath of a comment, I found it. Esme was jealous. A smile crossed my face and just as quickly guilt surged within me erasing all other emotions. It tightened into a knot in my stomach.

"For years, my mom thought I should have lessons. She liked me to be … on display," I admitted.

Esme nodded. Behind her in the door way, I caught a flurry of movement. Edward and Esme swiveled.

"Rosalie, Carlisle," Edward introduced.

In the doorway, poised like a model straight out of a catalogue, stood a devastatingly handsome man. Most captivating of all were his eyes. Golden, blazing eyes watched me from their home in the ivory hued face of the man. "Good morning, Miss Hale," he said. The fluidity and breathy tone of his voice added to the lilting British accent.

"Would you like to explain to me why I've been kidnapped and tortured?" I asked, propping my hands on my hips. Slender before, they felt even more voluptuous.

"I wondered when you would notice," Edward chuckled.

"Notice what?" I asked.

"Miss Hale …"

"Rosalie, please," I insisted.

"Well, yes. Rosalie, then," Carlisle began again. "I have some explaining to do."

I waited, watching him as he paced back and forth. Edward and Esme must have slipped from the room when I wasn't watching for it was not until now that I noticed that they were missing.

"Rosalie, you see, I have to make my apologies to you. Three days past, I was walking home from my office at the clinic. I was thinking about … dinner … when I heard the low grunts of men. A group of them, in fact. But above all that, I could hear the dying cries of a woman. Over and over again, all she said was 'no' …'"

"Was she alright?" I interrupted.

"As I approached, the men had already wandered off. There were empty champagne bottles smashed about the girl. I worried that I was already too late when I noticed shards of glass embedded in her skin, driven deep under it. Her lip was spilt open and oozing. She had been punched so hard that the men had broken her orbital bone, and her eye hung precariously loose. She was missing teeth, and those that she had, were clipped or broken at the gum line. I can't even begin to explain what they did to the rest of her body. But though everything, she never stopped speaking. With each raspy, blood filled gasp, she managed to say "no … no … please stop…"

He paused, gauging my reaction to his tale. I listened, staring at my hands perfectly manicured, waiting to hear the inhale of his breath. When it came, the sharp intake drew my attention back to his face.

"Please stop … Royce."

Numbness crept through my body. "Royce? Mu …" I caught myself and exhaled the breath I had been holding. "My Royce? My Royce hurt someo…."

I never finished my sentence. The look in Carlisle's eye told me everything. The hands on my body, the hard blows to my back, the slickly sweet breath in my face, everything had been real. It wasn't a dream.

"My God," I heard a male voice bellow from outside of the room.

"Edward, privacy please," Carlisle chastised, in a quiet yet soothing voice. "Can you take Esme out for a while? Perhaps a walk?"

With the close of an exterior door, Carlisle turned his angelic face back to me. "There's more. You see, medically, there was nothing I could do for her … err, you. Even I am not that good a doctor. Medically, you were just bidding your time until death found you. I thought … I guess I supposed …"

He trailed off.

"How am I here? How am I alive?" I asked, sincerely confused.

"That is the thing, isn't it? You aren't technically … alive," he answered, ashamedly. I tried to catch his eye but he didn't raise his gaze from my feet where they had dropped at Edward's outburst.

"I'm confused," I admitted.

"Yes, well …" he paused. "As it is, Rosalie, we are … vampires. Which would … make you a vampire, as well."

Was he serious? Did he expect me to believe this tripe? "Ok, then why are Edward and Esme outside IN THE SUN?!" I shouted.

He smiled, taking my anger in stride. "Where did you hear that? Been reading Bram Stoker again? Silly Irishman. I always knew that book would become the bane of my existence. No, Rosalie. We can go outside in the sun. It doesn't hurt us. Our skin is like marble or diamond and because of the composition of it we tend to … um, sparkle like polished glass."

"So, you expect me to believe all this? Just to take your word for it?" All he was telling me sounded like a load of bull. I had been kidnapped. That was the only explanation.

He reached for me, slowly, moving with the grace of a skilled surgeon. "I'm just going to take your hand, if you'll allow me?"

I nodded and his hand continued towards me. Grasping mine, he moved towards my chest, finding a final destination at my breast plate. "Now, can you feel that?"

I waited. I felt nothing, and said as much. "Exactly," he smiled. "Where is your heart beat?"

His hand left mine which still clasped at my chest. Nothing. There was no beat beneath my palm. The reality of it slammed into me like the attack of a wild beast, vicious, swift, and stunning in the same breath.

"I'm a vampire?"

He nodded.

"I'm a vampire," I repeated.

"Rosalie, I'm sorry. I really am. There was no other choice," Carlisle's eyes filled with remorse but no moisture glistened on his eye lashes.

"No other choice? You could have let me die. You could have left me there. You could have …"

His eyes, tainted with the black edging of black, glowed gold. "Would you rather I had? I do regret taking the choice from you. This is true, but I do **not** regret changing you."

"You changed me." I did not ask. I accused.

"Yes," he answered, unrepentant.

"I see," I paused to think.

"Carlisle?" I heard a door close once more and Esme and Edward appeared in the doorway. "Will you be joining me for … dinner?"

"She knows, dear," Carlisle explained taking Esme by the hand. "Do you feel the thirst yet? Like a scratching at the back of your throat? Something you might have written off as a sore throat or a cold just a week ago?"

I nodded. My throat was parched and dry. The saliva pooling on my tongue did nothing to alleviate it.

"Venom," Edward stated.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"It's not saliva. It's venom."

"How do you …" I began.

"I can hear you, them," he said pointing to his 'parents.' "Everyone. Constant voices. Your every thought. I guess you would call me telepathic. Though, I like to call myself 'cursed.'" He cracked a smile.

"You see some of us have special powers. It's not as common as you would think, but there are a few. Want to hunt?"

"Now?"

"Now or later," Edward answered. "Whenever you are comfortable."

"Yeah," I paused trying to take everything in. I'm not sure at what point in the morning my mind had disconnected from my emotions but I was desperate to process everything. "I just … I just want to be alone for a while. Is that alright?"

"Would you like to see your room?" he asked, genuine interest in his face.

"This isn't it?" I asked, gesturing to the small room which I had awoken in. The damp taint of bodily fluids hung heavy in the air.

"No," he answered, curling his nose against the smell. "Unless you'd like it to be?"

"Most definitely not!" I cursed. A smile broke out across his face.

Edward extended his hand. Soft and warm, I took it. Weeks ago, I would have baulked at his touch. But in this foreign world that I had been thrown into, I clung to the familiar.

His lip curled back. "Do I repulse you so much that even now you find it hard to be near me?" he asked as we began up a flight of stairs.

"No," I answered honestly. My words fell like I drank a truth serum. I knew that even if I didn't speak them, he would "hear" them nonetheless. "It's just that … you always thought you were better than me."

My words halted him in his steps in a room that had to be a kitchen. Mid-morning light streamed in through two large bay windows flanking a scrub board table. He turned to me, staring right into my mind with his flickering ochre eyes. "Yes," he confessed. "I did."

I nodded, knowing I had sized him up right from the beginning.

"Did you notice that I used the past tense? I **did**. Now, I know better."

I watched him shifting, changing positions as he stood. He looked nervous, conspicuously nervous.

"You know?" I asked.

Ashamed he looked away, "yes."

"How much?" I had to know. What had he seen in my head?

"Everything, even the parts you won't remember?"

I walked to kitchen sink and turned the spigot on cold. The water ran over my skin but I could not feel the temperature. "I remember everything," I whispered.

Edward sighed. "Believe me, Rosalie. You can't have remembered anything. The pain from the change erases all but the most indelible human memories."

I turned in a snarl of teeth to face the boy before me. The sun glinted off his porcelain skin, glowed in his bronze hair, and reflected in the granite surfaces around us.

"I remember everything," I roared. "Every touch. Every slap. **EVERYTHING**!"

Using my new found knowledge of his mind-reading skills, I shot my memories. Unlike a movie, closer to a slideshow, Edward saw the whole brutal attack from my perspective, felt the different sets of hands slide under my dress, smelled the liquor on their breath, tasted the blood on my lips, and heard the grunts and the blows of pavement on flesh.

He stumbled backwards, grasping the wrap-around countertop. "I saw before but I didn't think you knew. I didn't think you'd remember," he babbled.

In a blink, he rushed forward, taking my hand in his, and pressing his arms around me in an embrace. Like someone had flicked a switch into the "on" position, electricity charged through my brain as my emotions caught up with me.

"Oh GOD, Edward," my body shuttered with dry heaves against his. "He tried to kill me. He let them kill me."

Edward remained silent allowing me my moment of insanity. His response was to tighten his arms around me.

I screamed, crying out the Lord's name, over and over again. In my rage and grief, I wracked my brain, trying to recall a name to call out, someone to hold in my thoughts while I sobbed. Oddly, the vision of Vera's son stuck in my head, his black curly hair unruly and wild as he played on his mother's lap. No one was as precious to me as Vera's son was to her. Still, I could think of no one to comfort me. I had no one.

"You have me," Edward said. "You have Esme and Carlisle. They will love you like a child of their own blood."

I gasped, short of breath from sobbing. "And you?"

"I'll always be here for you, Rosalie," he said, stroking his boy's hand over my hair. It felt good to be soothed, to be tied to someone.

"Shower?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, pulling away from me. "Your bedroom is upstairs."

I followed him up a second flight of steps. At the top, we turned right. "This is the master bedroom," Edward said, gesturing to the large room to the left.

We walked on. "This is my room," he explained, pointing to a closed oak door. "And this is yours."

I nodded at my own door in acceptance.

At the far end of the hallway, Edward stopped before a closet, removed two fluffy yellow towels, and handed them to me.

We walked on and stopped before an open door with a cross hanging above the frame.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the wooden icon.

"Carlisle's legacy," Edward answered, matter-of-factly. I nodded.

"Can I go in there?" I couldn't help but wonder if the cross would keep a vampire out of a room.

Edward laughed. "Watch," he instructed. He stepped inside the blue tiled room and then out again. "In, out. In, out. In, out," he repeated with each movement.

I looked inside the room without stepping in. It was smaller than the private bath I had had at hom … in Rochester.

"This will be your home," Edward said, reading my thoughts. "If you want it to be. If you can accommodate our lifestyles, you shall always be welcomed with open arms."

"Lifestyle? There is a subculture to vampirism?" I asked with a smirk.

"Now, you believe us?" he said smirking right back at me. "Yes, we, Carlisle, Esme, and I, don't hunt as regular vampires do. One of the few things humans have gotten right about vampires is that they are our main food source."

I sighed. I knew it would come to this. I would be a monster like the books I had read.

"No. You won't. We are 'vegetarians'," he said with a slight chuckle.

"Vege-what?" I asked.

"Vegetarians. If you were a human, you'd only eat vegetables, no animals."

"No meat?" I asked. I had heard about vegetarians in other towns but I'd never met one.

"If you were a human," he corrected. "Being that meat is a huge portion of their meals, we equate humans to meat," he said pausing.

"Then, as vegetarians, you eat …?" I waited for his answer.

"Drink … we drink from animals. It's a moral choice and one which you can decide upon on your own. We will not think any less of you if you do not choose to follow our ways. It's your prerogative. So, think about it."

I blinked trying to take in the ethical and moral dilemmas the choice offered me.

"I'm not going to lie to you. You are going to want to drink from humans. You will salivate at their smell. More than likely, you will have to be held back. We will be there, though. I promise. We will be there for you," Edward finished, his slight hand resting on my own.

"Thank you," I said with sincerity and Edward turned to walk off.

"You're welcome," he answered. "If you need anything, just call out."

I took the towels and placed them on the closed lid of the toilet. Turning on the tap in the shower, warm mist began to fill the air. My dress, stiff with dried blood, sweat and excrement, dropped from my frame. I pulled off my stockings, ripped and bloodied, throwing them, along with my dress, panties and bra, into the rubbish bin.

Pulling back the cloth curtain, I stepped into the stream. Different from the cold water of the kitchen tap, it felt good against my skin which was parch and tight over my bones. At my feet, water colored with the run of from my body, pooled at the drain.

I scrubbed at my hair, figuring that cleaning from the top down would be the most logical step. Matting fell loose as the sticky adhesive of dried blood sloughed away with the suds of the shampoo that I found under the sink. I watched as the tresses between my slender fingers turned from burnt umber to its golden blonde. As soon as it was dry, it would curl and shine.

I rubbed my hands down my shoulders and over my arms, trying to grate the grime free with sheer force of friction. Down the planes of my body, I noticed an obvious change in what I was feeling.

Firm before, my body could easily be called glorious now. Tight stomach muscles rolled upward to the pert rosy buds of my breasts. Creamy skin followed south, as well, to the lighter hairs that disappeared between my thighs. I allowed my fingers to roam over my body, searching for any dirt, any speck of the violation that might remain. The cleaning became ritualistic and cathartic.

The flick of my fingers against my skin was magnified. I felt every pore open to the steam and inhale the soothing fragrance of the soap I scoured across my flesh. I wondered if I would ever truly come clean.

After what seemed an eternity, I stepped out of the tub and began drying off my body. A movement to my right drew my attention. Above the sink, there was a face that I almost recognized.

Ghostly pale, the apparition was surprised to see me standing in front of her, completely naked. She glanced over my body, while I took in hers. She was beautiful and unreal. Jealously, immediately, reared its ugly head and I turned to look away. She mimicked my actions. A hand reached up, touched the china doll skin of her face and moved to push the sparkling golden hair away from her vibrant red eyes.

I reached out and touched the mirrored looking glass. She followed suit.

It was me. The gloriously beautiful woman in the looking glass was me. Royce had tried to take everything from me and had succeeded. His one failure was this: he hadn't taken away my beauty.

I rubbed the towel against my face watching the mirror image of me copying and I smiled. I thought of Royce and let the rage build deep in the pit of my stomach. It turned over and multiplied with every passing second. Thoughts of my family waiting in Rochester, the life I would never lead built up and threatened to spew forth like an erupting volcano. Royce had taken away my world, my future, my life.

So help me, I'd see to it that the last thing he saw before he died would be my beautiful face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rosalie and Emmett's story**

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**Rated M for a reason. Sexual in nature. Strong language. You have been warned.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I own nothing. If I did, I would be rich.**

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**Song for the Chapter: **

**- "Going Under" Evanescence (yeah, cliché but it was the first song that made me think of how I'd feel if I was Rosalie and thinking about Royce)**

**- "Everything Burns" by Ben Moody and Anastasia (from the point where Carlisle and Esme leave Edward and Rosalie outside, alone) **

Last Chapter (Chapter 1):

_It was me. The gloriously beautiful woman in the looking glass was me. Royce had tried to take everything from me and had succeeded. His one failure was this: he hadn't taken away my beauty. _

_I rubbed the towel against my face, watching the mirror image of me copying, and I smiled. I thought of Royce and let the rage build deep in the pit of my stomach. It turned over and multiplied with every passing second. Thoughts of my family waiting in Rochester, the life I would never lead, built up and threatened to spew forth like an erupting volcano. Royce had taken away my world, my future, my life._

_So help me, I'd see to it that the last thing he saw before he died would be my beautiful face._

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Edward met me, leaning against the wall in the hallway. The terry cloth towel clung to hips, moving with me as I walked past him.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" he asked.

"What?" I played dumb.

"Rosalie," he admonished with a tilt of his head. It was striking, the way the sunlight played with the deep red of his hair. I stopped to give him another once over. His hair was spun copper. His features were young and virile, but his eyes. In his eyes, I saw his age, his youth long since gone from his soul.

"How old are you, Edward?" I asked walking into the room he had told me was mine own. I took stock quickly. A press of dark Mexican rosewood stood sentry in the corner of the large room. Within one drawer, I found panties of different styles and textures, slips and bras were below that. I shifted my weight, dancing in place, as I ran my pale fingers over the variety of fabrics, silky, lacy, satiny, in the drawer before removing a red set. I tossed them on the bed.

"Old enough. Esme ordered those from Boston the day we arrived," Edward confessed. "She didn't know your preferences. She wanted to make sure you had ... choices." He motioned nervously toward the dresser where the feminine dainties lay.

I was touched. My own mother had insisted that a "good girl" never wore French undergarments unless her husband bought them for her. Even when they had gone to the bridal shop for the final fitting just two weeks ago, Mother had slapped her hand when I dared to touch the curtain that separated the front of the store from "The Bridal Suite." The backroom, hidden behind heavy, weighted, velvet drapes that never moved even in the gales of spring, was the well known side business of the dress shop. Vera, my closest friend, had told me about it one afternoon. She spoke of the lacy garments with hidden knick knacks and, even, the white negligee that, to her horror, had a long slit in the crotch.

But here, Esme had gotten me every type of underwear I could have ever imagined, from the white cotton numbers that Mother bought in bulk to the racier items. I was floored. She had done this for a sense of normalcy for me. Anything to make me happy, it seemed. The sheer amount of undergarments in the four drawer press was enough to keep a single woman living in luxury for more than a year. I hated to see her waste her money on me like that. I would be sure to pay her back, in spades, if possible.

Edward walked into the room and pulled open the doors to the oak wardrobe. Inside was a months worth of dresses waiting for me to pick from. He walked his hands over the fabrics and settled on a blue dress with tiny yellow flowers patterned across it. "Maybe this one?" he asked, holding it up for my inspection.

"Blue really isn't my color," I admitted, drawing the towel tighter around me as I approached Edward. "Is there anything in a red?"

His eyes darted back to the tall cabinet that held the dresses. He drew another dress out.

"Really, how old are you?" I asked, again.

"I think this will be more to your liking," he said, placing the hanger in my hand. The dress was a light red, perfect for an afternoon in the park or for scheming to kill your ex-fiancée.

"I don't think killing him will accomplish anything," Edward said backing to the door. "If anything, it might upset you more. But …" he paused.

"But?"

"Carlisle has to be in Boston next week for a medical conference. He and Esme are going to be staying at the Taj Boston and have no need for the car. I could drive you to Rochester," he said with obvious strain in his voice. "I have no pleasure in aiding and abetting your actions but … with the knowledge that you and I share of the unpleasant circumstances … oh, hell, I'd kill him myself if I hadn't already promised Carlisle that I wouldn't."

I smiled. It was nice to know that I had a friend in Edward. His eyes noticeably lightened with my mood change.

I waited for him to speak again or to leave but he made neither sound nor move towards the exit.

"I need to change so unless you plan to help me out of this towel and into something more comfortable …" I let the offer hang in the air.

Edward turned and headed for the door. Ever the boy that I remembered from Rochester, I knew he would not debase himself. His tall and sinewy frame stopped in the door way and turned back to me.

"Physically, I will be forever seventeen. I will never be allowed to drink in a public house or vote. I'll never serve in war unless I can manufacture some papers that say I'm older. And I'll forever be hounded by police officers who insinuate that I'm breaking curfew. But for all that, I've roamed this planet for thirty-two years this June," he finished, turning to leave.

Thirty-two.

The number hung in my mind. Royce was thirty-two. My mother thought that despite our age difference, we would make the perfect couple. Still in the blush of youth, I was seventeen when I had been promised to him.

And I was eighteen the night that he offered me up to his friends and took my world away.

Edward offered a smile. "He might have taken your world, Rosalie, but you gained a new family."

I nodded, wanting him to go. It was still unnerving to have someone walking around in my thoughts and commenting on them at leisure.

Turning back to the bed, I found myself looking for lotion to slather on my perpetually dry skin. If I was going to be walking around looking as gorgeous as I did this morning in the mirror, I surely would want to feel as fantastic. But, there was none to be found on the vanity, or in the press.

I dropped the towel and walked to the window, taking in the lawn beyond the house. Passed a row of conifers, which hedged the house, lay a boat house and dock. Beyond that, a gray expanse of lake. The wind rattled the pane of glass reminding me that decent young ladies do not stand naked in windows for the whole world to see.

I pulled the underwear on and the dress. Edward had returned to my room by the time my golden curls had dried. I tied them back with a red silk ribbon that Esme had left on my vanity along with ribbons or every other color imaginable.

"If you can wait until Sunday evening, Esme and Carlisle will be out of the house. I imagine it would be easier to leave without them knowing," Edward said.

I turned to face him. "No, I want them to know what I'm doing," I said, trying to hold my head as high as I could.

Stock still, he took appraisal of me before continuing. In the lowest of whispers, almost too low for me to hear, he spoke. "You'll break their hearts."

"No," I said with confidence. "I might disappoint them with my intentions. But, I refuse to lie to them. And yes, lying by omission or subterfuge is the same as telling a lie straight to their faces. If you are to be my family from now on, I don't want to start out that way."

Tilting his head, Edward fixed his gaze with my own. "Admirable," he deemed after a lengthy silence. "Let's head for the woods, I'm sure you could use a good meal. Then, we'll find them and tell them of the plan. Agreed?"

"To the woods," I agreed and headed through the house, the grounds, and off into the dense woods surrounding Lake Winnipesauke.

Hunting was … well, if I were still living in the sheltered life of my father's home in Rochester, I'd say it was barbaric, animalistic, frightening. But, in this new light, with these new impulses, it was … thrilling. It felt like every wall that had been placed around me had been torn down and I was finally told to run free. I moved with the speed and grace of a gazelle. The forest quivered in anticipation of my approach. I could feel the wildlife around me, feel their hearts quicken when they caught my scent … or, for the unfortunate ones, when I caught theirs.

Sated, hours later, Edward and I returned to the summer cottage on the east shore of the lake. Esme and Carlisle sat in a pair of chairs over looking the water in the dimming light of evening. Fireflies darted around their heads.

"Dear," Esme said, motioning for me to join her and Carlisle. I took a seat on the patio between the two of them and looked out over the lawns. Edward sat on the far side of Carlisle. I could hear him picking blades of grass and rolling them between his fingers. "How are you?" Esme asked running her hand through my hair.

Instinctively, I leaned into her hand and closed my eyes. Could I do this to them? How do you explain to the people who saved you that you must go back and murder someone? I heard Edward chuckling, unseen on the other side of the patio.

"I'm doing … better than this morning. Edward explained some things to me," I paused to meet Carlisle's eyes. "If it alright with you, I'd like to stay." I had made my decision earlier while I showered. If Edward could be a "vegetarian," so could I.

"We would be honored to have you as a member of our family," Carlisle said in his mellow British lilt.

I paused weighting the words I would say next. "I'd love to, but …" I paused and stood, moving to find Edward. His mere presence brought strength to me. "I have to go back home. I have to say 'goodbye' to my family and friends."

"Rosalie, honey, you can't," Esme said standing from her seat faster than I'd anticipated.

"You're too young yet to go back into society," she said taking in my scowl. "Dear, it's like leading a drunk to the bottle."

I didn't move.

"Plus, your family thinks you have run off or are dead. They are still looking for you. Carlisle is monitoring the papers. When it is safe, in a while, maybe five years or so, it might be possible to go back to town and look into their lives. But you mustn't have contact."

I shifted and felt Edward beside me. Again, his presence seemed to rejuvenate me.

"I'm sorry," I started. "I must go back. I won't have contact with anyone that will be able to tell of my presence. I'll take Edward," I finished motioning to him.

"While he is strong, Edward can not hold off a newborn," Carlisle interrupted. "We, Esme and I, would rather you not go. Consider what you are doing before you run off."

He motioned for his wife and taking her hand, walked into the house, leaving Edward and I to the silence of twilight.

"I think he's right," Edward said long after the sun set behind the mountains.

I gazed out over the purplish waters that reflected the electric lights of the houses scattered on the shore. "About me hurting you to get to … humans?"

He didn't answer and the silence stretched out between us like a cat uncurling from a nap.

"No, the words he didn't say." Edward turned to me. "He doesn't want you acting out, seeking revenge without thinking about the consequences. There are things to take into account when you impose upon a mortal's life."

"THINK ABOUT THE CONSEQUENCES?" I turned on him. "Did he think about the consequences when he turned me? When he made me the abomination that I am now?"

Edward stood dumbfound at the turn our conversation had taken. "He just wanted to save you." His voice sounded like a whimper next to my roar.

"Save me," I scoffed. "Condemn me, more like it. By the way, Edward, I believe you left out some things during my 'orientation'," I used my fingers as exaggerated quotation marks.

"Such as?"

"Such as, why I haven't had to use the bathroom yet. Or better, after my shower, I was so frustrated, I wanted to cry but all that came out were dry sobs and then dry heaves. Why can't I cry, Edward? What else haven't you told me?"

A guilty look over came him. "Well … that would be because …" he stammered. "You can't do most of those things now. You can't cry tears. Your saliva? It's venom now. You can use it to immobilize prey. It's incredibly painful way to die, but you can use it. We don't digest the way a human does, so there is no byproduct to worry about. You know our skin will sparkle but you don't know that only the bite of another immortal being can pierce it."

He paused.

"Is that it?"

"No, you will forever be eighteen, just as I will always look younger than you."

"I can live with that," I admitted. Never growing old meant never counting gray hairs or trying to smooth away wrinkles.

"But …" he took my hand in his before continuing. "As vampires, we can not reproduce as humans do."

"We can not have sex?" I asked, astonished.

"Are you propositioning me?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

It took me a minute to find the laugh that he was stifling. I smacked him roughly on the shoulder.

"No, our kind can have sex. I've been told it's highly enjoyable actually. More so than when we were humans," he paused, again. "It's just that our reproductive systems do not work after our transformations."

I took in his words. They seemed to come from a long way off and through a fog before reaching me.

"We can not have children?" I asked shocked.

"No," he said, still clutching my hand.

"I can not have a baby?" I said again, feeling my legs drop out from beneath me and the lawn race up to meet my knees. "I can't have a baby?"

He shook his head at me from above. "No, I'm sorry Rosalie."

I shook my hand roughly from his grip and pounded the ground around me. I beat and struck it hoping it would open and swallow me whole.

"I can't have a baby," I said, no longer asking Edward for the truth but speaking it myself. I spoke it to the lake in front of me, to the grass at my feet, to the sky over my head. I spoke it anyone who would listen.

Everything. Royce took everything from me. My life. My future. My ability to have children. This was the last straw.

"I need to go to Rochester," I said. "Tonight."

Edward studied me for a moment. I could only imagine how I looked at the moment with the dark lake behind me, the wind gently blowing my golden curls around my face, my eyes crimson red, full of fury.

"I'll get the keys," he said and turned to the house.

"I'll meet you at the car," I said and stalked off around the house.

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**Please review. Tell me anything. You liked it. You hated it. I should abandon this story (which let me tell you will get a whole lot juicer soon). You don't like how I'm writing a certain character, or you do like it. **

**I do want to apologize for the lengthy wait between chapters. It's that time of year and I'm inundated with requests for college recommendations and I've been sick (thanks to those who were concerned about my stomach ailment – it turns out it was related to my diabetes – which is much better than the alternatives). Hopefully, updates will become much more regular from now on. That's what happens ... new boyfriend + getting sick me being a jerk and not updating ... sorry.**

**So … review … please. **

**Thanks, **

**Niamh**


	3. Chapter 3

**Rosalie and Emmett's story**

_**AN: Yeah … I know. I suck. Sorry. I've been wicked busy and then my boyfriend decided I needed a vacation. So, I am currently posting this from Dublin. Tomorrow, I meet his parents and then in two days, I get to go and visit my family in County Kerry. Well, I know it's been a long time coming but I hope the length (17 pages on Word) makes up for it!**_

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**Rated M for a reason. Sexual in nature. Strong language. You have been warned.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I own nothing. If I did, I would be rich.**

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**Songs for the Chapter****: **

"**Lullaby" by Shawn Mullins**_** (when Rosalie is thinking about her family), **_

"**The Way You Like It" by Adema **_**(when Rosalie is at the bank), and**_

"**Machinehead" by Bush and "Afterlife" by Avenged Sevenfold **_**(when Rosalie is in the vault) -- **_**you can hear it on my myspace page … if you click my profile and look for the link (and become my friend while you are at it! :) Make sure to subscribe to my blog because I love to post teasers and previews of coming chapters to all my fanfics there.)**

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Driving far faster than the posted speed limit, Edward and I rocketed down the back roads and crossed from New Hampshire into Vermont, and, then, out of New England and into my home state of New York in record time. The entire drive, he had remained silent and still; the only signs of consciousness were the movement of his hands on the steering wheel.

Approaching Rochester, Edward slowed unexpectedly, ten minutes outside of the city limits. "What's going on?" I asked as we passed a billboard touting hair pomade that guaranteed to leave the user's hair shiny and manageable. A single beam of light crept out from behind it.

A police officer sat on a motorcycle.

"It's a speed trap," Edward announced.

"How did you ...?"

He cut me off, tapping his index finger to the side of his hand.

"I don't know that I'll ever get used to that power of yours," I admitted.

"I hardly have," he said, under his breath.

My gaze returned back to the midnight blackened countryside. As clear as if it were noon, my new eyes took in the familiar sight of the homes that started to pop up in small clusters before the city proper. This was the only home I had ever known, the place where Mother had paraded me around practically since my birth.

One of the highlights of her photo strewn mantle was a framed newspaper article that featured my tiny, cheery body on the back of a parade float. The story I had been told was that during a showcase of local beauty pageant contestants, I'd walked out towards the floats. Bedecked in a pink frock and white shoes with pink bows, I'd tottered over to one of the male escorts who walked beside the vehicles that the beauties rode on. Thinking how adorable I was, he'd picked me up and put me on Betty Rae Stooder's float, where I waved and blew kisses.

Finally, Mother realized that I was no longer at her side. I remember her racing forward to grab me from the float only to catch on that the crowd was reacting more to me than Betty Rae at my side. Complacent, she walked parallel to the parade route allowing me to soak in all the cheers and praise the citizens of Rochester could throw at me.

Betty Rae won her pageant. Mother insisted that it wouldn't have happened without my smiling face during the showcase.

My picture appeared in the local paper, the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, and, soon enough, Mother received a phone call from the Editor-in-Chief letting her know that the Associated Press had thought the picture so darling that they had requested to run it on their wire. My picture was seen all over the world that week.

Ever the shrewd business woman she was, Mother waited for and then capitalized on the opportunities that popped up because of the photo. On the advice of a friend, she had me sit for a number of portraits until I wanted to cry with frustration.

My photos, my mother, and ultimately, I, were all dragged to New York City in hopes that an agent would find some use for me. "You'll be a model, little Rosalie. Or an actress," Mother had told me. "Won't that be divine?" she asked as we passed a street market.

A short man with a thick mustache and a receding hairline stood in front of a vendor's cart. As we passed, he held out a peony for me. I took it in my fisted hand. When I did not immediately respond to her question, Mother turned to find me staring at the beautiful gift that the man had given to me. She held out her hand, waiting for me to give over the blossom, which I did without hesitation.

Tucking the pink bloom behind her own ear, she grabbed my arm, still chubby with baby fat, and asked again if I was looking forward to being a model.

"No, Mummy," I answered.

She laughed at me. "Why ever not?" she asked, still striding down the street. "Don't you want everyone to know how pretty you are?"

I must have waited too long to answer because I can remember her stopping abruptly and spinning around at me. She dropped to my height and glared at me. "Rosalie, don't you want to be a model?"

"No, Mummy. I want to be a mummy like you," I had answered her with all the naivety of a four year old.

Pursing her lips, she roughly grabbed my shoulders. "Listen to me, little Rosalie. While we are in the city, you will act like a good girl. You will smile and curtsy. You will say 'yes, sir' and 'no, ma'am.' And when Mummy says you will be a model, you will be a model," she emphasized her last words with a shake of my body. I watched as the beautiful flower fell from her hair.

Pulling me up by the arm, Mother rose to her full height and stepped back into the flow of pedestrian traffic. I looked behind as I was dragged along to see the peony, mashed into the cement sidewalk. "Now, we are off to see Mr. Mayer's agency first ..."

Mother's voice faded into my memory as Edward pulled the car into a deserted lot. We had come to the heart of the city while I was day dreaming.

"You can wait here until I come back," I said, grabbing for the handle of the car. "My parent's house isn't far from here and Royce should be …" I trailed off.

"That's not an option," Edward answered, mirroring my own actions as we stepped from the car.

I pushed the car door closed without looking at it. A hollow thunk rang through the still predawn air. I had hardly processed the noise when Edward spoke.

"Damn it, Rosalie."

"What?" I asked.

He motioned to the passenger side of Carlisle's 1933 Cadillac LeSalle Coupe. **(See profile for picture.) **The door was crinkled into a mass of steel and paint which no longer matched the opening for which it was intended to cover.

"Rosalie, you have to be more aware of your strength. Think before you do something or you could shatter something more fragile than a steel door," Edward said, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"Of course," I answered, stunned momentarily. My forgotten strength would certainly help me carry out my plans.

Reading my thoughts, Edward asked "what _are_ your plans for the night?"

"Kill Royce," I answered. It had been the only thought during the seven hour drive from the summer cottage.

"Such finesse," Edward mocked, leaning against the hood. "Really? Is that as far as you've thought it out?"

"No. The first part of the plan is 'Kill Royce.' The second part is 'Kill the other men'," I paused, thinking that this might be my last chance to visit Rochester for sometime. "I'd like to say 'goodbye' to my family."

Edward ran his hand through the mop of copper hair at the crown of his head. "You know you can't do that …"

"No," I stopped him. "Not in person. I must say 'goodbye' though. I owe them that much. They are, after all, my family."

Slowly, seeing my thoughts, he nodded his agreement. "Tonight," he dictated. "We go there tonight."

Smiling, I took Edward's hand and walked toward my family's home. Reaching the walkway to the house, I paused.

Nothing had changed. I don't know why I had expected that it would have. Pristinely manicured hedges bordered the long wrap around porch which sported a lovely wrought iron banister and railing. The windows were drawn tight against the night air and white lace curtains hung in the frame.

I had always believed that if the kitchen had been blazing with smoke and flames, Mother would have done everything in her power to insure that not a soul living in our town would ever have the faintest idea that a conflagration raged inside. She had always said that which we present to the public must be perfect and we must ignore all else.

I scoffed at myself. Why had I thought there might some outward sign that even after the four days and five nights I had been missing? No yellow ribbon adorned our gateway, no hopes for a safe return home. No flowers from friends had been placed by the door in a makeshift shrine.

Edward's hand tightened around my own. "There's no one inside. I can't hear their voices." He inhaled a deep and unnecessary breath. "No one is here. I can smell them, but it's a lingering smell. Nothing new."

"Odd," I thought. His words came to me, then. Should I be breathing? Could smelling their scents help me let go of them?

"Don't," Edward said. "You'll never …" he paused.

"You will not be able to control yourself," he finally said. "You will be forced to hunt. You will be forced to hunt tonight."

"So?" I asked.

"You will want human blood," he said, turning from me, as if listening to something far off in space or time. "Believe me. Hold your breath until we are far from people. It's just easier on you."

I nodded. Walking to the porch, the normal, everyday normalcy of the predawn light on the doorway set my skin to itching. It was almost as if my family hadn't thought it out of the ordinary that their eldest child, their only daughter, was missing. Dead, really.

Next to the doorframe, in the mailbox, a single letter stuck out. I grabbed it and met Edward's gaze. "Is it safe to go inside?" I asked.

"Yes. No one is inside," he answered. He eyed the heavy doorknob. "I suppose that I could push in the door." He fingered his jaw in contemplation of the situation.

I stepped from the porch, descending the stairs, and stood before a short length of flowerbed. Crocuses had popped out in the days since the last time I had come home. I nudged them, trying to pull one from the ground without crushing it. My attempt was half successful as I pried the flower from the ground without maiming the bloom but obliterating the stem where I had pinched it.

Beside the bed of purple flowers, I buried my hand two or three inches deep into the earth. Soft and damp, my hand rooted through the top soil before coming to rest on a thin piece of metal. Shaking it and my hand clean, I bought it to Edward.

He cocked his head, examining me and my gift.

"I used to lose my key all the time," I explained. "One day, I hid an extra in the garden. It's been my saving grace many days."

I slid the key into the lock and slowly turned it, trying not to crush the delicate inner workings of the knob. Stepping inside the house, I expected memories to strike me from every direction.

Still and silent, my footstep echoed through the foyer and into the parlor. I traced my daily steps through the sitting room into the dining room, through the pantry and the kitchen. Using the servant's staircase, I raced upstairs and passed the closed door of my room to my brothers'. Both beds were empty. I found the same in my parents'. Wandering back down the hall, I found myself waiting outside the white door of my room.

I wasn't sure why I stood there, staring at the white washed finish of the wood. I gathered the courage after a minute's wait and pushed the door inward. It squealed its familiar protestations and I stepped into the eerie tomb that had been my bedroom just four days before. Scanning the room, I could tell that nothing had changed since I left for Vera's house just before dinner all those days ago. Even my book laid still and open to the last page I had been reading.

Reaching out to touch the page, I realized that I still held the letter in my palm.

It was addressed to my parents and post marked with yesterday's date. _So no one has been home in at least two days, _I thought, knowing my mother was a diligent mail checker.

I opened the letter and read:

_Jonathan and Clarice Hale: _

_Against my husband's wishes, I am sending this message to you. Without rehashing the present circumstances, one might understand why Royce Sr. wishes for our families to remain distant._

I shuttered. She was taking such a cavalier tone about what had happened. It was almost as if it was nothing more than an inconvenience to the families, almost as if no one understood what it truly was: My death.

_Please take this as formal notice of the dissolving of the engagement between our son, Royce King II, and your daughter, Rosalie Hale._

_On a more personal note, Clarice, I hope that your find your daughter. Royce explained how distraught Rosalie was when she came to him two nights ago. He told me that she had found another that she loved more than he and was traveling west to meet him on the midnight train. We all wish our children to make a better life for themselves that we were able to do and I hope that one day Rosalie finds happiness; even if she had to break Royce's heart to do so. _

_Do not contact us further._

_Yours in good faith,_

_Viviane Royce_

The letter slipped from my fingers as my arms went limp and fell to my sides. Frozen in place, I stood like a statue.

Royce had told them I ran away. I broke the engagement. I was unfaithful. The man had sullied my name. No Hale had ever besmirched my family's name and I sure as hell wasn't going to allow an outsider to do it for me.

I wanted to tear the room apart, rip the paper from the walls and throw down the curtains, take my nails to the mattress and spill the down from the comforter with my teeth. But, I hesitated. Edward had said I wasn't to tamper with anything. I wasn't to touch anything that might be conspicuous, something that the family might notice upon their return.

I took a step forward, meaning to go to my closet and take out the few jewels Royce had bestowed upon me while we courting. I figured I could pawn them.

Hanging off the doorframe of my closet was a wedding dress. Layers of lace and silk covered the dress. Even in this, the frock I was to wear on **my** day, I was forced to acquiesce to Mother's choice. I thought the dress was overdone and gaudy. She said it was perfect.

As I left the house, the final token of my human life in my hands, I met Edward lounging against the banister of the front stoop.

"I have a few matters of business I have to set in order after day breaks," I announced.

He looked up to the cloudless sky above us as we walked away from my family's home. "It looks like it's going to be a nice day. We'll need to find a place to hide out," he said, holding out his hands. "Want me to hold that for you?"

"No," I answered. "It's my burden to bear."

Walking in silence, the dawn began to crest the horizon. "It's Monday, right?" I asked Edward who answered with a nod. "If we can get inside, the church on First Street should be safe place. Not many people show up the day _after_ the Sabbath."

Edward's slight smirk let me know he thought my plan a good one. Arriving at our destination, we waited as he scanned for thoughts from inside. With the all clear, we made our way inside to hide from the bright sunshine of the coming day. While we didn't have to fear the Hollywood stereotypes of vampires who burst into flames and dust with the sun, apparently, the sight of sparkling teenagers was enough to cause rioting.

The day came with the cool heat of spring close on its tail. Edward rummaged through the back rooms of the Sacristy and found a deck of cards. We played every game we could think of until midday when a phone rang in a room we had not investigated.

Waiting until it stopped, I counted to forty as slow as I could before picking up the receiver. Setting my plan in motion, I asked the operator to connect me to the First National Bank of New York, Rochester Branch.

"First National. Sylvia speaking. How may I assist you?" a timid voice answered the call after the operator placed it. I pictured the petite girl with light auburn sitting in the round desk in the center of the foyer of the bank.

"I would like an audience with Royce King, please," I demanded, masking my feminine voice with a gruff growl that I hoped would make me sound like a man.

"Mr. King is unavailable," she said. "Would you like to speak to one of his associates?" The typical response was meant to shake me and leave the Kings undisturbed.

"No," I barked back at her. I could see her cringe in my mind. "I will speak to Mr. King Jr. or no one."

"I'm sorry, then. I'm afraid he is unavailable," she answered, determination slipping into her tone.

"I will leave a message for him then," I explained to the girl, who was not much younger than me. "You will tell him that Mr. Kennedy has called. He will call again at 5 p.m. and that if he values his hide, he will take the call."

"I will pass the message along," Sylvia answered before rudely hanging up the phone.

At five on the dot, I called the bank for a second time that day and a new, male voice answered. "This is Patrick speaking. How may I assist you?" he asked.

"Where is Sylvia?" I asked not thinking.

"I am sorry. She is not available. Can I help you with something?" he asked again.

"Yes, I am calling from Boston for Mr. King. I need to speak to him."

"One moment, please. Mr. King is very busy. May I ask who is calling?" Patrick asked.

"Ms. Stooder calling for Mr. Kennedy," I answered thinking of the first last name that came to mind.

Patrick balked at the name and stuttered. "Oh yes, well. I do believe he is expecting this call. Just let me patch you through, Ms. Stooder."

I waited a moment before I heard Royce's familiar gravely voice. "Ms. Stooder. How may I help you?"

Playing the part of Mr. Joseph Kennedy's secretary, I informed Royce that my boss was not happy with his secretary's attitude on the phone earlier. I was assured that she had been summarily fired. Laying down the last of my plan, I explained that Mr. Kennedy, a very influential, wellknown, and wealthy Irish businessman from Massachusetts, was in Buffalo and was planning to stop by First National that evening around 10 p.m. "Will you and your associates be available for an impromptu meeting tonight?"

"For Mr. Kennedy," he simpered. "Of course, we can."

I hung up the phone and rejoined Edward in the balcony of the church. Just before 6:30 p.m., Edward gasped and spun towards me, clamping his pale, slim hand over my mouth. I felt his fingers move and pinch my nose. "What?" I whispered against his palm.

"Don't breathe," he begged me, leaning ever so slightly towards the edge of the balcony. I listened, waiting for what he heard, until the shuffling gait of age drew a bent woman down the center aisle towards the tabernacle. She bent to kneel before it, crossed herself, and whimpered ancient prayers in Latin.

"Almost done," Edward muttered after ten excruciating minutes passed. With a final amen, genuflection, and sign of the cross, the wizened woman left the church.

Edward removed his hand and I inhaled an unnecessary breath. The favor of the woman assaulted me, wrapped around my tongue, and teased my saliva glands to life. Venom pooled behind my lips as I imagined jumping from our lofty perch, landing before the unsuspecting woman, and bleeding her dry. The very image of the act left me light headed and warmth pooling in my stomach.

"Rosalie," a soft voice called from a distance. "Rosalie, listen to me. Let go of the railing, Rosalie." I felt fingers prying wood from my hand. Slowly, the church came back to me.

"Edward?" I asked confused, finding myself shaking in his arms. "W-What happened?"

"Nothing happened," he said, pulling my head to his chest. His fingers stroked my head, tenderly as my father had done to me when I skinned me knee one summer day. "Everything is fine now."

I felt my body shake with pent up emotions and unsated hunger. "Shhh," he crooned.

When I felt in control of myself, Edward released me. For more than two hours, I sat in a pew, removed from him. I had almost attacked a little old woman. I had almost attacked a little old woman in a church, no less. I was ashamed with myself. Even for all the rage I felt towards Royce and my attackers, I couldn't imagine myself the cold blooded killer that would harm an innocent woman on sacred ground.

I was repugnant.

"No," Edward interrupted my thoughts. "You're just following your nature. **Not** feeding from her was the most unnatural thing you could do."

I nodded and pulled my legs up to my chest, rubbing my palms back and forth across them almost as if I was looking for heat in the cold solitude of the church balcony. Edward allowed me my silence.

As 10 p.m. rapidly approached, Edward stood and offered me his hand. We left the church to the quiet streets of Rochester. Running through back alleys and side streets, we avoided detection and were soon standing before the brick faced front of the First National Bank of Rochester.

I could hear the men inside, sharing lewd jokes and wondering aloud if Mr. Kennedy was as rich as people said he was. "How many are in there?" I asked Edward.

He rubbed his hand through the scraggly mop of copper hair and scrunched his brow in concentration. "I'd say seven. Wait," he put his hand out to stop me. "There are eight. What are you going to do?"

I thought about his question and shifted the bag in my hands that I had carried from my parents' home. "I'm going to finish what they started," I said started toward the front door.

Edward's grip on my wrist stopped me.

"I'm going to do this, Edward, whether you think it's right or not." I met his determined gaze with one of my own.

"I was just going to make a suggestion that you take a deep breath out here and you won't be as tempted to feed," he said, pushing a strand of my loose hair back behind my ear. "If you need me, just call for me. I'll come."

Shocked for a moment, I had to gather my senses before opening the large glass door with gold letter that announced "First National Bank of Rochester."

Inside the foyer were a line of benches and the round desk where Sylvia had sat until this afternoon. I kept walking, purpose spurring me forward. Deeper into the bank, the long stairway to the second floor, where the executive conference room, vice-president, and president's offices were, loomed in the dim lighting of night.

Men's voices rang through the hallway as the door to the conference room opened, suddenly, rinsing the corridor with golden light. I paused at the top of the steps and judged the distance between myself and the numerous doors lining the hall. I could hide in an empty room until the opened door closed or I could stand my ground.

As silent as I was deadly, I shot passed the open door and skidded to a halt, hidden in the shadows of the corridor's recesses. The man exiting the conference room shouted one more lewd joke back towards the other men inside and turned his back to them, closing the door behind him. He staggered slightly down the hall. If I remembered what was standard business procedure for Royce and his cronies, most of the underlings who were privy to the meeting this evening were already three sheets to the wind in anticipation of their guest's arrival.

As he passed by my hiding spot at the far end of the hall, I step between him and the conference room. Blocking his escape route, my shadow fell on the marble floor beside him. In an exaggeratedly slow move, the man turned to find out who had fallen into step behind him.

Through the hazy of alcohol, I watched as recognition touched his mind. "You're … you're that whore from the other night," he said, pointing a cubby finger of accusation at me.

Closing the gap that lingered between us, I laid my on his shoulder. "You remember me?" I asked, confirming that he had been one of the men that evening.

Hooded eyes peered up at me. "How could I forget a sweet little thing like you?" his spoke as his fingers touched the red fabric about her hips. "Come back for more, did you?"

"Something like that," I admitted, running my hand from his shoulder down his arm and onto the side of his chest. His hands continued to roam as I felt the ribs in the man's chest and moved closer to him so I could feel his back.

"Why don't we take this to the lavatory, baby?" he asked moving his hand toward my hemline.

"No right here will be find," I finished. Deliberately, I pushed my pale, slender index finger through his meaty flesh directly above his fifth intercostal space. Like a hot knife through butter, my finger sliced through his paper thin skin, the fatty deposits underneath and kept moving until I felt his rib. Pushing again, I felt the ribs separate and crack before my finger punctured the wall of his heart. It beat frantically for a moment before I felt the warm liquid spill onto my hand.

I dropped the man to the floor before the slight of his blood caught my eye and the hunger I had pushed down inside me reared again.

With renewed determination, I picked up the bag I had left in the cubby hole before walking to the conference room. Stooping down, I placed the bag just to the right of the door and began removing my shoes. It was be a shame to waste a fantastic pair of shoes on beasts like the men inside.

Wishing I could take a deep breath to relax my jangled nerves, I reached for the door knob to have it turn in my hand. The door burst open with a rattle and the tired eyes of another one of Royce's buddies met my own. "Rosalie?" he asked, startled.

"And, you would be?" I asked stepping into him, driving him back into the room of men. A quick scan told me that these were the members of the Vice-President's board, which Royce headed. All five, including the man, slowly bleeding out in the hallway, were there.

"Mr. Thomas," he shuttered, backing up until his posterior bumped into the board table. "Joe, call security," he shouted with a gulp.

As if pulled by puppeteer's strings, my hands flew up to his neck. Anyone watching would have suspected me of delivering a lover's caress. His groan would have only added to their suspicions. Any illusions would have been broken the minute his head parted his body and rolled to the center of the maple table.

A man close to the phone jumped at the console and mashed the pad. I step around the desk to a dark haired man, picking him up, I heard the man on the phone ask for bank security. The man in my hands pled for his life. "Miss, I never meant to hurt you," he barked as I threw him up into the air only to catch him before he hit the ground.

Judging the height between his now unconscious body and the chandelier, I heard the fourth man at the table stand. Thinking to take me unaware, I tossed the man to the ceiling, allowing his body to graze the lights above. Sparks showered the table below and the loosened chandelier rocked.

The fourth man was barreling at me now. Had I truly been the fragile human woman whose visage I still clung too, he would have had the upper hand in the fight. My vampire instincts were having nothing to do with allowing this mere mortal man to get the better of me.

Milliseconds before his body crashed into mine, I spun on him and delivered a punch that struck him mid-stomach. His eyes questioned me before blood gurgled at his lips and he slumped over.

"Yeah, Frank. There's a problem in here. That crazy bitch is killing the board members," the man on the phone paused.

"We'll get Mr. King to safety. You just get out of there," the guard instructed "Joe" before he clicked the phone off.

"You're not going anywhere," I informed the man as I reached for the phone. Wrapping the length of curled cord connecting the handset to the base around the man's neck, I pulled it tight until the wire look as flat as a stalk of corn. Reaching above his head, I wrapped the cord around a wall bracketed lamp shaped like a flower's bell. I left him there, his legs kicking the air, desperately trying to find a foot hold, while the air in his lungs quickly diminished.

The man who I had tossed sky ward finally finished his decent and crashed into the conference table in a shower of wooden splinters. "Why?" he croaked at me. I turned to leave, wrenching the door off its hinges. I wanted to be sure that in the morning, when the workforce started to arrive for the day, that someone would stumble upon their bodies.

"Because," I turned back to face him. "You finally messed with the wrong woman. I could blame it on your choice of friends. Royce is no gem. But, I think, given the opportunity, you would have done the same thing without him there to goad you on."

"Enjoy your Hell," I enunciated my last word by slamming my fists into the doorframe.

The wall and ceiling shook violently for a moment and then stopped. I heard the man take a breath as relief washed over him. My heightened sense caught the slight jerk of sound as if screws were loosening someplace. The mortal's heart began to race again as he realized him final outburst had caused the chandelier to come loose. In a rush of tinkling rain, the brilliant two ton chandelier, the pride of Royce King Jr.'s boardroom, came crashing down on the man lying on the remains of the conference table.

I picked up my shoes and my bag which I remained where I had left them and walked on down the hall, passed the man whose heart had finished pumping blood to his dead body, and to a secret stairway that would take me back to the first floor. The dark stair well smelled of wood oil and tobacco as I wandered downward, towards the secured back of the first floor.

Entering a small and dark foyer, I listened for any voices of which I heard none. No guards were posted outside Royce's office.

_He must be in the vault, _I thought. I could remember the time he told of me of the safekeeping measures in place for his safety. For any security cause, his personal guards had been instructed to take him to the vault where the walls were made of a foot of lead. Bullets could not penetrate them, nor were there windows for anyone to reach him through.

Making for the vault in the back of the bank, I found two guards standing in wait before the huge wheel that would open the locking mechanism for the vault. Royce had once told me that the lock could also be turned from the inside, a precautionary clause his father had insisted on for the safety of his bank employees that might be locked inside.

The guards froze as I walked into their sight. "Miss, you need to turn around and leave. I don't want to have to call the police," one of them said.

"Yeah," the other said, trying to get his two cents in. "We don't want to have to hurt you."

"You're giving me ultimatums?" I asked. The younger guard nodded and took a step towards me, his revolver bobbing in the air. It took a moment before his name came to me. The boy was only two years older than me. "Eugene, this is your last chance. I need you and your friend to leave or I'll be forced to hurt you. I only want Royce."

I slowly covered the distance between the two of us and placed my hand on the muzzle of his gun. "Go Eugene," I said, trying to hypnotize him with my voice.

In response, I felt his hand tighten around the gun and the powder blast, sending a bullet directly into my arm. It tore through skin and bone before exiting the other side. No blood pool at the entrance or exit wound.

My lip curled in annoyance. "Great," I announced. "I don't even know how to fix that!"

Eugene raised the gun, again, and made a motion to fire at my heart. The first shot had been enough to put me off bullets for the rest of eternity. I moved with lightning speed and spun the young man around. When the bullet left the gun, it hit his partner in the chest, felling him immediately. A second shot followed. This time, Eugene was his own victim. He never saw my hands turning the muzzle around to face him.

Wiping a gray piece of Eugene's brain off of my shoulder, I noticed the bullet hole in my own flesh had begun knitting itself back together. I hoped that by the time Edward and I were heading back to New Hampshire, the hole in my dress would be the only remnants of tonight's battle.

Moving quietly, I grabbed for the bag that now held my removed shoes and the garment that I had taken from my parents' home, my wedding dress. Stripping down, I took the silk and lace monstrosity and put it on. My mother had been right, the dress hugged my curves beautifully and I'm sure that under other circumstances, anyone would have been more than delighted to see me walking towards them wearing it.

Royce, on the other hand, would not.

It was his turn now.

Turning the enormous wheel, I felt the locking mechanism twitch and click open. Swinging outward, the door opened with a slow and aged movement. Still hiding in the shadow of the vaults waiting area, I heard Royce inhale a ragged breath.

"Eugene? Pete? Is it all clear?" he asked the deceased guards. After a second's wait, he called out for the two men again.

"I'm sorry," I answered. "But Eugene and Pete are …" I paused stepping into the light. "Dead."

"Rosalie," he snarled, the perspiration rolling off him like waves. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you," I told him. "Don't you want me? I mean it was you that ruined me for all other men."

I walked toward him, stalking like the lioness I was. His eyes darted to me then to the open vault door. "Don't even think about it," I instructed him. "You'll never make it out before I get my hands on you. Then again," I shrugged my shoulders. "A predator does always like a good chase."

"Rosalie, honey," his voice cracked. "I was so worried. I thought we had hurt you. I mean look at you. Not a scratch on your beautiful face."

I laughed. Deep and guttural, the laugh came from some feral part of my soul and ripped through my veins like quicksilver. "You thought you hurt me_?"_ I taunted. "You were worried? Then why do my parents think I ran off to marry some other schlub?"

The breath caught in his throat. "Whatd'ya … I mean …how couldja …" he stammered. "Where have you been then?"

I approached Royce, looking at his wiry frame and oily brown hair. He retreated, shuffling backward until he bumped into the metal framed chair. "What's the matter Royce? Don't you like my dress?" I asked motioning to the wedding dress. "I wore it just for you."

Even now, I watched him dip into his reserves and pull some sass up. "Do you think white is still appropriate?" he asked, fingering a ringlet that had pulled loose from the rest of my hair.

"I guess not," I said. With the flick of a wrist, I ripped the dress off and stood before him in the light sheath of a slip. I tossed the remnants into the corner and placed my hands on Royce's shoulders, forcing him back into the seat behind him.

"I don't know what you think you are doing here, undressing and forcing me into a compromising position, but I'll never give you a penny. I don't care if any of them got a baby on you," Royce announced. My eyebrow cocked.

"You think I want money?" I asked. "You think you can buy me off? No, no, no, Royce. I don't want anything from you."

I turned and walked back to the open vault door. Grabbing it with two fingers, it swung shut, clanging ominously. "Other than your life, that is."

"Rose, what do you think you're going to prove here?" he asked.

"Don't you ever listen? I'm not here for proof. Not a living soul will pass out of that door tonight," I finished, pulling Royce from his seat and throwing him onto the desk.

"What the?" he murmured, finally realizing his disadvantage. "What about you? If no living souls are going to be passing through the door how do you plan on leaving? There are no windows or heating vents, you stupid blonde?"

My laughter cut through the air like the peeling of a bell. "Stupid blonde? Try this on for size: I'm not living nor do I have a soul."

"I knew you were crazy," he said, watching me take the laces from his shiny black shoes. "What are you then? A ghost? A wraith."

I tried his hands behind his back and moved to his legs which followed suit.

"Oh no, dear fiancé … I guess I can't call you that anymore." Taking the lacing from the corset of my wedding dress, I tied his extremities to the closest part of the desk or that he lay face up. "I'm far worse than a ghost. Death took me … processed me … and spat me out. I'm a walking, talking, thinking weapon with an insatiable hunger for …"

I let my words trail as I ran my finger down his double breasted coat, popping the buttons as I went. Ripping his vest and undershirt off, I exposed his chest. His pants soon followed until he lay in his undergarments.

"Blood," I finished flashing a toothy smile. I couldn't help by flick my tongue across my razor sharp teeth. Satisfaction came when the acrid smell of urine assaulted my nose. Royce had pissed his pant.

"Scared?" I asked.

He didn't move. "Well, you should be," I told him. My finger nails, almost as sharp as my teeth, made small patterns across his chest. Wincing, Royce didn't let a single cry escape his lips.

I continued making marks down his body. Like miniature paper cuts each wound like the slice of a scalpel and oozed with blood. From head to toe, I had scarred almost every inch of Royce's body, except his arms, in a matter of seconds. He began to shiver with blood loss.

"Scared yet?" I asked. A flick of his head said "no."

Impulsively, I grabbed his right foot and wrenched. I heard the crack of bones tearing and tendons snapping just before Royce roared, trying to pull free of the bindings that held him to the table. "Hmm, not scared yet. How about now?" I asked pulling thef big tow of his left foot off completely.

"What are you?" Royce screamed as he thrashed against the table.

I sauntered around his flailing body and took his hands. Taking his hand in my mouth, I licked around one finger. I remembered Vera told me once that some men can become aroused with a simple flick of the tongue. Apparently, Royfce was one of these men. I almost cackled to watch the tiny tent his member made of his pants.

"You like that?" I asked him. When he didn't respond, I snapped back all the fingers in his right hand and moved to his left. Dislocating his shoulder, I took my time prodding the bone and teasing the muscle beneath until I was sure Royce was blind with pain.

"Now tell me," I implored Royce, shifting my weight to sit on his torso. Straddling his waist, I could feel his flaccid phallus pressing against my hip bone. "Are you scared now?"

"Y-y-yes." His lips blue and cold, chattered mercilessly.

"I'm glad you've finally come to your senses," I said dipping my head down to plant a kiss on his cheek. I allowed my cold skin to linger against his as I whispered in his ear. "I would be scared too if I were closed in the same room as a vampire."

Realization flashed in his eyes only to be replaced by sheer terror.

Royce's shrill, feminine scream was cut short as I push down on his chest with all I could muster. As the desk collapsed to the floor, I felt his heart mash to a grinding halt as his lungs became the same consistency as well-worked butter.

Lifting myself from his body and the wreckage of the desk, I peeled off the slip I wore, threw it in the corner with my wedding dress and opened the vault door.

I quickly threw on the clothes I had left in the vault's foyer. The red dress felt cool against my body and my feet ached to put the beautiful shoes Esme had bought for me back on.

I took a final step back into Royce's death chamber. Looking over the wreckage, I smiled.

"You'll never touch anyone again. I hope it was worth it," I said. With pleasure unlike anything I had yet experienced, I spit on his unmoving corpse and turned to meet Edward outside, slamming the vault door behind me.

He was there, still sitting on the benches outside the bank, waiting. Seeing his face and his tentative smile, the night caught up with me. My body jerked as dry heaves wracked my frame. Edward held his cold hand to my head and forced me to my feet. He allowed me to hold on to him, grip at him, like a sailor would a lifeboat.

"I knew this would happen," he said as my sobs petered off. "So, I went and got the car."

We walked in silence around to the back lot where Royce's expensive car sat next to the Cullen's equally expensive vehicle. Five other moderately priced cars flanked two cars that looked like they had been put together with scraps from the junk yard.

Edward held my hand as he helped me into the back seat, the front passenger seat being occupied by the remnants of the door that I had destroyed earlier. "I'll have to get a job to pay for that," I said.

"No. Carlisle won't hear of it. You'd have better sense to help out Carlisle when he asks for a hand," Edward finished, walking to the driver's side. "Anything else?" he asked.

"No," I said thinking about all the things left undone in Rochester, in my former life.

Turning the car, we headed passed the Rochester city limits sign and out of the state. "Want to talk about it?" Edward asked when we were halfway through Vermont.

"No," I confessed, staring out at the stars shining in the dark, velvet sky. "Not yet."

* * *

**AN: Don't forget to read and review. Be honest with me too. I'm always trying to improve and value your comments more than you could know. :)**


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